


stormclouds and lightning

by fanfictiongreenirises



Series: Batman Bingo 2020 [17]
Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics), Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Car Accidents, Dick Grayson is Nightwing, Don't copy to another site, Gen, Headaches & Migraines, Hurt Dick Grayson, Hurt/Comfort, Sickfic, Tim Drake is Robin, no beta we typo like idiots who decide to finish and post fics at 2.30 am
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:33:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23930128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fanfictiongreenirises/pseuds/fanfictiongreenirises
Summary: Dick had had a headache even before he'd left for the Manor.
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Alfred Pennyworth & Bruce Wayne
Series: Batman Bingo 2020 [17]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1622032
Comments: 39
Kudos: 539





	stormclouds and lightning

**Author's Note:**

> This barely has concussions in it but I'm counting it for the "Concussion" square on my Batman bingo card anyway ^~^
> 
> This fic is very strongly inspired by two Supernatural fics I read waaay back like at least 5 years ago ([this one](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/10833142/1/Of-Headaches-and-Little-Brothers) and [this one](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/5030378/1/Splitting-Open)). Because of a bunch of reasons (read: laziness and having a shittonne of classwork and lectures) I used migraine lore from those fics instead of doing actual research, so pls don't take any of the medical stuff in this as fact 
> 
> Disclaimer: medical stuff very questionable, and also I don't own DC

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Dick had been nursing a mild headache for most of the day. It’d started off as probably a combination of lack of sleep and not enough water, but now it was pulsing through his temple and the backs of his eyes, trickling down to his jaw.

All in all, a very unpleasant experience.

But Dick had had worse. He’d also had _better_ , but in this line of work, feeling achy or sore in various body parts was common on most days.

The fact that those days had become more regular than the days where he felt completely fine, both mentally and physically, since he’d moved to Bludhaven, was a fact that he ignored. He was here to do a job, to prove to the world and to himself that he wasn’t just a sidekick, that he didn’t need a partner to be a good crimefighter. That he could handle this.

The fact that he went running back to Bruce every time he asked for help didn’t really help his case. But now Tim was there, and that was more than enough motivation to visit more often.

Dick took two Panadol pills before he headed out, shrugging on a jacket as he left the apartment. A set of his gear was already in the car.

The roads were soaked from the insistent rain that’d been falling for the duration of the day. Dick turned on the demister as the heating made the windows begin to fog up. The trip in general took about an hour and a half, but he usually managed to shave it down to just below an hour, with the help of his car tracking police cars and cameras.

It never looked good for a cop to be going twenty over the limit, even if the Haven’s police force was known for its corruptness.

Bruce called twenty minutes into the drive.

“Dick,” he said.

“Hey, B,” Dick said distractedly, fiddling to turn the volume down as it sent his headache spiking. “I’m on my way.”

Bruce grunted. “I should’ve called sooner. We’ve mostly wrapped up the case – you didn’t have to make the trip. I know you said you were busy.”

Dick sighed. “Well, the nearest exit back is closer to the Manor than it is to head back. Might as well come, at this point.”

“All right,” he responded. “I think Alfred’s cooking your favourite.”

He hung up before Dick could respond, leaving him more confused than ever. Dick would’ve pondered on it longer, had thinking been something that he felt like doing. But it was taking all of his concentration just to drive between the lines. Thank god for cruise control.

Ten minutes later, Dick turned the music off entirely. What little it’d been doing for his concentration was now completely gone. He reached for the bottle of coffee he kept under the passenger seat – emergency stash that he had to change out every week or so to ensure he didn’t die from drinking it instead – and opened the lid one-handed, chugging down a quarter of its contents in one go.

It tasted like absolute crap, but hopefully it’d kick in sooner rather than later. The one silver lining about tonight was that Bruce didn’t actually need his assistance; he could crash for a few hours before they had to leave for patrol.

Dick carefully placed the bottle back under the seat, making a note to remember to finish it at some point – or at least take it out of the car. The last time he’d left food in here, the smell and remains had been enough to send him gagging.

There was no one on the highway. He overtook the occasional car, and the number from the opposite end was even less than those heading towards Gotham.

Dick was about ten minutes away, and counting down the miles, when a truck with its high beams still on turned the corner, shining its headlights right at Dick.

The headache, which had been a constant prodding at Dick’s head, was now a full-blown hammer into his skull. His vision went white as pain flooded through his retinas and orifices he hadn't even been aware of. Dick shied away, head turning and eyes squeezed shut to get away from it.

He must’ve turned the wheel as he did so, because the next thing he knew, the car was bouncing as it hit uneven terrain. There was a tremendous crash, which was the last thing Dick registered before he blacked out.

* * *

Tim was currently commandeering the Batcomputer, so Bruce was the one who answered the phone when it rang.

“Yes?” he said shortly. There was a select handful of people who knew this number - who could _access_ this number.

“B.” Dick’s voice was breathy and it made Bruce snap to attention instantly.

“Dick?” he said, grabbing his cowl. “What’s wrong?”

“I, uh,” Dick sucked in a breath, “think I wrecked my car, B.”

“Where are you?”

Tim, already ahead of Bruce, had tracked the Bluetooth in Dick’s phone. Bruce sent the coordinates to the Batmobile, rushing towards the car in the next instant.

“...wen' off road,” Dick was saying, his words slurred.

Bruce nodded to Tim to join him, handing the phone to him. “Keep him talking,” he said.

Too many worst-case scenarios were flicking through Bruce’s head for him to not drive towards the location with a lead foot. Tim, beside him, kept up a steady stream of questions. He was worrying at his lip while he listened, and the nervous tic did nothing to help Bruce’s blood pressure.

He hadn’t even realised how heavily it was raining, and guilt embedded itself in the pit of his stomach. Bruce couldn’t drive as fast as he knew he would’ve normally been able to, had the streets not been half flooded, but he still managed to make the ten minute distance in seven, slowing down when he neared where the GPS indicated Dick’s car was.

There was nothing there on the road, visibility made worse by the sheets of rain coming down. He parked the car in the emergency lane on the side, zooming in on the tracker as Tim grabbed a torch and they got out.

The rain had washed away any potential tracks Dick's skidding would’ve made, but the torch shone on something that was very much _not_ nature.

Bruce’s heart skipped a beat.

Dick’s car was practically wrapped around a tree.

“We’re here,” Tim was saying on the phone. The fact that Dick was still semi-conscious (or so he assumed, from the pauses in Tim’s speech) sent waves of relief down Bruce’s spine.

From closer up, he could see that the passenger side was the one more affected. He opened the back door, peering in.

“Dick?” he called.

There was a moan and a hiss from Dick, but the fact that he was responding at all was a good sign. Bruce would take everything he got. Then he frowned; Dick was saying something. Bruce climbed inside, needing to see how bad the crash had been.

“Couldn’t catch that, kiddo,” he said as he tried to get a good look at the position Dick was in. And _why_ hadn’t the airbags gone off? If removing them had been part of Dick's mods, then he was going to strangle him the second he was okay.

“Loud,” Dick whispered.

His right arm came up and he wrapped his fingers around Bruce’s coat in a death grip. Bruce grabbed his wrist, checking his pulse. He didn’t like how cold Dick’s skin was, but the inside of the car wasn’t much better than the chilly outside temperature. His pulse was rapid, but not enough to indicate shock.

Bruce flashed the torch at Dick’s head, intending to see the head wound a little better, to check his pupils, but the moment he did so, Dick cried out and jerked backwards, eyes squeezed shut.

Bruce moved the torch away immediately. “Hey, I need you to stay with me, okay? You’ve hit your head, and probably have a concussion, and a bad one at that.”

“Headache,” Dick got out through gritted teeth. “’fore.”

“You had a headache before?” Dick hummed affirmatively. “Can you move your toes?”

“Yeah.”

“Does anything other than your head hurt?” When Dick frowned a little, obviously getting tired of all the questions, Bruce added, “You know I need to keep you awake anyway, until we can get you checked out.”

“No,” Dick said. “Just m’ head.”

His voice had gone back to the breathiness that it’d had when he’d called Bruce. Bruce gently untangled the fingers from his clothes, only now registering that he hadn’t even put on the suit when he’d left the Cave. Dick’s breathing picked up.

“We’re going to get you out,” Bruce reassured him. “But for that I need to get out.”

He climbed out, and turned to Tim, who had been watching with bated breath. “I’m going to pull him out,” he said. “He’s still conscious, so he should be able to help a little.”

Tim nodded. He knew the procedure for this.

Bruce opened up the door, reaching around Dick to undo the seatbelt. “Still with me?” he said, even as he pulled Dick’s left arm over his shoulder and lifted him out of the car.

Tim was there on the other side immediately, supporting Dick. Dick’s eyes were squeezed shut, but the hand that Tim was holding managed to grip back almost as strongly.

They brought him over to the Batmobile, settling Dick in the back. Tim slid in beside him, tucking in a shock blanket around Dick.

Bruce only left for a moment, to go back to the ruined car and attach a line to it, to tow it back to the Cave. The drive home felt long, broken up only by the one worded responses Dick gave to Tim.

Alfred was waiting for them when they returned. His eyes widened slightly when he took in the state of the car, but he remained as unruffled as ever as he hurried forward to help Dick to the medbay.

“Dim the lights,” Bruce said, studying the measured breaths Dick was taking, the crease in his brow.

Tim complied, hovering near them as Alfred took stock of Dick’s injuries.

“If he has a concussion, it’s mild at best,” he reported, moving a little away from Dick and speaking in low tones. “You said he reported a headache before setting off?”

“Or at least before he crashed,” Tim told him. “He said he was doing fine until the high beams of some car made it worse.”

Bruce grunted. “Must’ve been some headache, if it made him crash.”

“Maybe it was a migraine?” Tim suggested. “My mom used to get them sometimes. His symptoms are similar.”

Bruce frowned, but it was Alfred who responded. “Master Dick has no prior history of migraines, but singular cases brought on by head trauma or stress, among other things, aren’t uncommon.”

“Then there’s nothing to do but keep him hydrated and warm,” Bruce said. He didn’t like the inaction of this.

Tim had, at some point while they were talking, gone to grab hot water bottles, ice packs, and blankets. Bruce couldn’t help but picturing a younger Tim bringing his mother similar supplies while she was ill. He made sure to squeeze his shoulder when Tim unloaded everything onto a nearby chair, placing them carefully around Dick and watching for his reactions to see whether they should use hot or cold measures.

* * *

The next time Dick woke up, he felt like absolute death warmed over. He was in the Cave, lying on a cot on his stomach. That alone was strange – he couldn’t recall if he’d ever slept in that position while in the medbay before. Dick blinked groggily, trying to take in his surroundings and shifting his head to the side. He regretted the movement immediately.

“Dick,” Tim said from his other side. “Hey. How’re you feeling?”

He’d lowered his voice considerably after Dick had flinched at the normal sound level. The echo in the Cave didn’t help the absolute pounding in his head.

“Not too bad,” Dick said, trying for a smile. He didn’t like the furrows on Tim’s forehead, but it didn’t seem as though he succeeded – they deepened as Tim frowned down at him.

Tim reached around somewhere behind him and drew out a hot water bottle, placing it on the back of Dick’s neck. It helped somewhat, but nothing seemed to pierce the soul deep throbbing.

“The case,” Dick said suddenly, jerking his head up as he remembered why he was here in the first place. White hot pain flashed through, his vision going out for a moment. He didn’t know if he made a sound, but the next instant, he was leaning over the side of the bed, throwing up in a bucket that Tim had had the foresight to grab.

Tim was tentatively patting his back. Dick knew he’d pressed the panic button, but at this point, he was too gone to care. He pulled himself back onto the bed and tried to find a position that helped, but nothing did.

He could hear the sound of footsteps running towards them, and wished Tim had told Bruce – because Alfred’s steps were never _that_ thunderous – to be quieter. Each fall of feet send a pulsing wave down Dick’s spine. He took in measured breaths and tried to go someplace in his head that was far, far away from the pain.

* * *

The third time Dick woke, he was still in the medbay in the Cave, but this time he didn’t want to cut off his own head every time he blinked. He sat up, swallowing as the motion made his head spin. Something tugged at him: there was an IV line attached to his arm.

Dick was contemplating removing the IV line and getting out of bed when Bruce entered the area. Even in the dim lighting, Dick could see he looked as if he hadn’t shaved for days, and bags were beginning to form under his eyes. Bruce didn’t register Dick at first, rubbing the bridge of his nose, but it was stark clear the moment he did.

Bruce’s eyes widened, a change in expression he normally would never have let show, and his shoulders seemed to slump in relief. “You’re awake.”

“How long was I out?” Dick tried to ask, but his throat was so dry he choked on the first word.

Bruce wordlessly grabbed a cup from where a tray rested atop the dresser. He held it up to Dick’s mouth, and Dick’s free hand came up to grab Bruce’s wrist as Bruce tilted it slightly, knowing from experience that Bruce was not to be trusted with the cup.

After three small swallows, Dick asked again, and this time Bruce’s mouth frowned. “Three days,” he said.

Dick blinked. “Three days?” he said incredulously. “The crash wasn’t _that_ bad.”

“The crash wasn’t that bad,” Bruce agreed, “but you had a severe migraine. You had to be sedated so you could get some rest.” He sank into the chair beside Dick’s bed.

“Migraine?” Dick repeated. “It was pretty bad, but not _migraine_ bad. I didn't think migraines caused people to be unconscious for _three days_.”

Bruce fixed a look on him. “Believe me, it was bad. Leslie say the chances of it happening again are rare, but she gave you a prescription if you do feel the same sort of pain. It won’t prevent it entirely, but it shouldn’t be as severe.”

“Three days, huh?” Dick said. His eyelids were already drooping. “I’m guessing you’re completely done with that case now.”

Bruce seemed to age a year in front of Dick's eyes at his words. He rubbed his face with his hands, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.

“B? Is something wrong?” Dick turned around until his knees dangled, before he stood up on legs that threatened to buckle under him.

Bruce's head lifted. “Sit,” Bruce growled, standing up himself and gently pressing Dick down until he was seated again.

Dick didn’t want to admit it, but he was glad; his vision had developed dark spots for a moment there as the headache flared for a moment. He looked up at Bruce, waiting the man out.

Bruce sighed, hands still on Dick’s shoulders. “I’m sorry,” he said.

Dick tilted his head, hair brushing against Bruce’s hand. It was beginning to get on the long side again. “What for?” he asked, genuinely bewildered. Bruce rarely apologised, and when he did, Dick usually he had _some_ inkling of what it was about.

Bruce clenched his jaw, fingers tightening on Dick’s shoulders before relaxing once more. “The case was done before you’d even left. There was no reason for you to drive here. If I’d just called sooner—”

“Bruce, c’mon,” Dick said, one hand coming up to grip Bruce’s, “it wasn’t your fault. For all you know, I might’ve come over anyway.” Bruce didn’t respond, and Dick exhaled. “Look, it was just a shitty combination of circumstances. Can I go upstairs now?”

There was a pause as Bruce studied him. “You need to rest,” he said. “You were out for three days, Dick.”

“I can rest upstairs.” Already, there was an itch that went bone deep to be getting out of bed, going for a walk at least. And he didn’t want to be down here, where even Bruce probably wouldn’t stay for long, not when he had work to do for the company.

Bruce let out a breath. “Come on,” he said, moving around to stand beside Dick. He grabbed the IV pole as well, wrapping an arm around Dick’s waist as he stood and teetered.

“Give me a sec,” Dick said, waiting for his vision to clear. He huffed slightly at the tense expression on Bruce’s face. “I’m fine, B. Just headrush, is all.”

Bruce grunted, but didn’t say anything as they made their way upstairs. It was a slow march from the Cave to the Manor, and when Bruce tried to turn to head into Dick’s room, Dick paused in the hallway.

“Where’re you going to be?” he asked. “And wasn’t Tim here before?” He vaguely remembered Tim. Dick hoped he hadn’t scarred the kid too bad with the throwing up, but Robin had seen much worse out on the streets.

“Tim has school,” Bruce said with a slight smile. “And I have work. You always said my meetings were boring.” It was a pointed comment, one designed to make Dick go to his room and lie down.

But Dick didn’t feel like being alone in a room right now. Something in his face must’ve tipped Bruce off to that, because he sighed and led them to the living room.

“Sit,” he said, nudging Dick.

Dick sank down into the sofa with a soft exhale. He curled up in one corner of it, finally registering how his head still pounded with the beat of his heart. Something soft landed on him, and Dick's eyes opened into tiny slits to see Bruce covering him with a blanket. He’d closed them for a minute or so when he realised that there was no shifting of the cushions as a second body joined him there.

He jerked up a little, eyes flying open and sitting upright.

He was the only inhabitant of the room.

There was a sinking feeling in his gut at the thought of Bruce dropping him off here in front of the TV and then disappearing off to do work in his home office. Dick couldn’t even put his finger on _why_ he wanted company so badly, but he did.

He sank back into the pillows, trying to fight off a wave of a wave of bitter hurt.

Dick had almost dozed off when there was movement, barely perceptible if not for the complete silence in the room beforehand that made any change immediately obvious. He lifted his head up, unable to hide the look of surprise that flashed over his face at the sight of Bruce settling a laptop, stack of papers, and headphones on the coffee table beside the sofa.

He glanced at Dick. “I figured you’d prefer this couch to the one in my office,” he said.

Dick took a moment too long to respond. “I do,” he said. “Prefer it, that is. Your couch is made to break spines.”

Bruce grunted. “It wasn’t meant to be slept on,” he said.

“Yeah, I know,” Dick said, sinking back into oblivion with every word. “It’s to make you feel uncomfortable enough to want to leave to motivate you to get work done faster. It’s _dumb_.”

Dick was too far gone to process what Bruce said in response, but he felt a hand settle on his ankle as he drifted off to sleep, rubbing small circles into his skin.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!!! My card is in the series description if you want to request a square, and I'm always up for a chat on [tumblr](https://fanfictiongreenirises.tumblr.com/)


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